


way down we go

by TheEagleGirl



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Lyanna Lives AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-03-05 02:11:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13377927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEagleGirl/pseuds/TheEagleGirl
Summary: the most dangerous place to slip is behind enemy lines





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> another Ned x Cersei fic! I love this trashy pairing with all my heart, and I've got to thank Kal and Leyla, who've also intrigued me with the possibility of Robert x Lyanna

She rips the cloak off first, when they’re alone. The heavy white fabric falls from Cersei’s fist, and she shoves it off of him, biting Jaime’s lip with a moan.

“Cersei,” he pants in her ear, and she grips the desk beneath her tighter, “Gods, I—”

He can’t say more, when Cersei pulls his face down to her shoulder. It is the first time the two of them have had time alone since she’s arrived, but the walls in this section of the Red Keep are _thin_ , by the gods. He can’t be so careless here.

Jaime doesn’t seem to notice, and pants into her neck, still thrusting hard into her. When he comes at last, his fingers work between them, until Cersei’s head falls back and she moans, biting her lip to stifle the sound.

Jaime stays nestled between her thighs for some time, while Cersei regains her breath. When she feels steady enough to start pulling herself back together, she feels him begin to shake.

“Jaime?” She whispers, shifting against the desk, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

He says nothing, only trembles more, and after a moment Cersei wraps her arms about him. Father had said that Jaime was shaken by the Rebellion, though she can’t see why—he’d been far from the bloodshed, here in King’s Landing. “Shh,” she whispers. “You’re alright, Jaime. The Mad King is dead. The dragonspawn are all dead. We’re back together. All will be well, now that our enemies have been defeated.”

His eyes are dry when he pulls away, movements stiff. “Children,” he says, as though that will make Cersei see. "Our enemies were _children_. Children I took an oath to protect, and instead I kept the throne warm for Ned Stark.”

“No,” Cersei tells him firmly, gripping the sides of his face. Jaime has been…off, since before she’s arrived. She has to treat him more gently than she normally would, but the repetitive nature of this argument bores her. “You kept the throne warm for _me_ , Jaime. Robert Baratheon is our king now, and Father says I’m to be queen.” She turns her touch into a caress, but her mind is racing. Jaime cannot lose his grip now. She’s glad she’s here, to pull him back from whatever edge he’s decided to dance off of.

“Jaime,” she murmurs, tracing her thumb against the outline of his cheekbone. “We get to be together, when I am queen. You’ll be guarding me night and day. There will be no sneaking to dusty old rooms when you want to fuck me.” Jaime looks away. Cersei touches his golden hair, so much like hers, and continues. “The Targaryens are all mad,” she says, lips against his ear, “and you’ve saved us from generations more of their tyranny. You’re a hero, my brave brother, and when I am queen…”

“ _If_ ,” Jaime says miserably, detaching himself from her, righting his tunic before stooping to retrieve his cloak. Impeccably white, even after Cersei’s thrown it to the floor. She hates the sight of it on him, feels her rage spike when he fastens it around his shoulders, not meeting her eyes. She wants him to come back to her, fancies slipping off the edge of the desk, kissing him until he drops out of this dreadful sulk. _Anyone who isn’t us is the enemy_ , she’s told him countless times when he brought up Rhaegar’s children. It was…distasteful, perhaps, the way they’d died. But Cersei is no fool. The children needed to die for Robert to become king, and the how of it matters little.

“What do you mean _if_?” Cersei demands, when Jaime does not elaborate.

“Lyanna Stark might be alive,” Jaime says, and finishes with his cloak.

“Rhaegar’s whore?” Cersei asks, and laughs. “You can’t believe Robert would _ever_ —”

“Robert is in love with her!” Jaime says, cutting her off. “Do _not_ count yourself queen until the crown is on your head, dearest sister. This,” he waves around, though Cersei is not sure if he means the two of them or King’s Landing, rid of the Targaryens once and for all, “may have been for nothing after all, if the advancement of our family is the only thing that matters. Lyanna Stark may be queen yet.”

Cersei’s cheeks burn, and she pushes herself off the desk. “How _dare_ you?” she demands acidly. “I will be queen, Jaime. Father has promised it, and we’re too strong of an ally for Robert to refuse.”

“And if he still does?” Jaime snaps, fastening on his sword belt with quick, jerky movements. Cersei feels a cold anger wash over her.

“I will not be passed over for Lyanna Stark again,” she declares, tightening her lips. Jaime looks back at her, his expression pained.

“I’m glad Rhaegar did pass you over,” he says finally, his voice soft. “If he took you the way he took Lyanna Stark, I...” Jaime trails off, and reaches out to Cersei, face twisting.

She slaps his hand away. “Don’t touch me,” she hisses, and straightens her dress. The trickle of his seed down her thigh distracts her, but Cersei ignores it in favor of looking dignified and unapproachable. It works, and Jaime does not reach for her again.

“I’ll leave you,” Jaime says, after the silence grows too long, the distance between them widening. “I--I have to go guard the King soon.”

 _I should have been born the man,_ Cersei thinks, when he’s left, glancing back at her before stepping out and shutting the door. Jaime will be back by her side tonight, apologies made and his desperate hands searching out hers beneath the table. _He’s become soft in his time here, forgotten what comes first._ Cersei would never have lost her way so. She sees why Father brought her here, why he’s instructed her to force some life back into her brother. But there are more important things, now. Father’s other instructions held her attention now: to catch the eye of the King.

 

  
“Lyanna,” Ned says, gripping her hands. “I’m sorry, Lya, but you cannot lose your nerve now.”

“My milk has not yet dried,” she whispers through frozen lips. “There are marks on my belly and hips, I can hardly sit without flinching. He will _know_ , and he will kill my son.”

Ned looks as though he wants to protest, to tell her that Robert would never condone the murder of a child. But he _has_ , already, hasn’t he? Lyanna had cried when Ned told her the truth, that Robert had laughed when Elia’s children were presented to him, called it good riddance.

“You can tell him you lost the child,” Ned tells her, but they both know she cannot. If Robert even suspects the bastard child on his way to White Harbor is the child she lost, all will be finished.

Lyanna looks away, squeezes Ned’s hands. “I want to go home,” she says, and hates how small her voice is. She’d thought herself a woman grown just over a year ago, a woman escaping her betrothal and her father’s expectations--not realizing just how _childish_ it had been to run in the first place.

Ned presses his lips to her brow rather awkwardly, as though he does not quite know how to comfort a woman. Lyanna wishes Brandon were here, for a blissful moment forgetting that her eldest brother was dead, and that it was all because of her.

“You may still go home,” Ned whispers. “It will depend on Robert, if he--”

“If he still wants me.” Lyanna is, after all, used goods.

Ned nods, and she can see the pain in his eyes.

 _You must do this,_ she reminds herself. For her son, her little Stark-looking boy, so like Benjen and Ned. Jon, who spent only a fortnight at her breast before Ned convinced her she could not run away to Pentos or Myr to keep him safe.

The boat rocks, and Lyanna has to smooth out the wince when pain shoots through her. She knows that Ned would rather be on deck, away from the stifling interior of her cabin, but instead he holds her hands and smooths her hair down when she lays her head on his shoulder.

“He’ll treat you well,” Ned tries, and Lyanna nods against his tunic, sniffling. She’d believed Rhaegar would treat her well, when she agreed to his terms. Give him his Visenya, and she’d be set up with a tract of land outside of Summerhall, with all the wild horses she’d desire. But when she heard about Brandon and Father…

Robert would not keep her against her will, she must believe that.

The docks are quiet when they arrive, and the spring night air carries a bite of cold. Lyanna shivers, used to the dry heat of Dorne, and is immediately ashamed of herself. She’s lived through winters colder than this. Were the past two years enough to beat the wolf out of her? She was a Stark of Winterfell, and the cold could not harm her.

Two members of the Kingsguard are waiting, Robert’s _new_ Kingsguard, with their white cloaks stark against the night.

“The King sent us,” they tell her brother, handing him a sealed letter. Lyanna’s stomach roils, and she is nearly sick with fear. What if he looks at her, sees the widened hips, something changed in her expression? What if he knows, that she wasn’t taken, but gone of her own accord? That she is a mother now, to a _dragonspawn_ , as he’d called the dead children of Elia Martell, that she will never be the same girl he’d loved so? The air Lyanna sucks in gets stuck in her throat, and her knees would buckle if not for Ned’s arm around her. Her brother squeezes her elbow.

“Lead the way,” he says. “And tell King Robert that Lyanna is alive and well.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things don't quite turn out the way anyone wanted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's for Kal and Leyla! Thanks for waiting so long while I got my shit together and updated!!

“Lyanna Stark is alive,” Cersei’s father tells her as they break their fast, and if not for his burning eyes and clenched fist, Cersei would think him uncaring. 

For a moment, she is speechless.  _ Jaime was right, _ she thinks. But Jaime is  _ never  _ right, not when it counts. And then her strength saps back into her. 

“No matter,” she says, affecting an airy tone. “Where is she? Dorne, as you suspected? Perhaps at Starfall, where Ser Arthur could keep an eye on her.” She does not say it aloud, for fear of the Spider’s vile little spies, but she knows her father must already have an assassin in place to dispose of Lyanna Stark, to secure Cersei’s path to the throne. 

“She’s here. In King’s Landing.”

Ice wraps around Cersei’s heart, stopping her fork halfway to her mouth. Shakingly, Cersei sets it down, and places her hands in her lap, clutching her skirts.

“Here?” she asks faintly. “That’s impossible, if she were alive, we would have heard--”

Her father watches her dispassionately, his face still as marble. Cersei flounders for something to say, but comes up blank. She will be  _ queen _ , he’d told her himself. Father always delivered on his promises. 

Her face feels frozen, all the blood drained from it. Robert, for all his appreciation of Cersei’s form when she passed him in court, for all his chasing of the serving wenches during feasts, had started this war for Lady Lyanna, everyone said so. He’d resisted taking a queen, continued to resist her father’s attempts at a betrothal because his Lady Lyanna might still be alive, captive,  _ waiting _ . 

“Her brother, Eddard Stark…” her father starts, and his fist tightens on the table. “Seems he’s more sensible than he seems. He told no one of her survival, commandeered a Dornish fishing vessel and came straight to King’s Landing. They arrived last night, and Lady Lyanna has been surrounded by Northmen since they reached the docks.”

The message is between her father’s words, just as they’ve always been.  _ We cannot kill her with so many eyes watching _ . 

Cersei feels anger rise in her, her hands shaking beneath the table. “You said I was to be queen,” she forces out, her cheeks heating. “Robert can’t possibly--Rhaegar  _ lay  _ with her, of course he did! She might have gone willingly, if we are to believe the stories. How could Robert want--his advisors won’t  _ let _ him marry her!”

The  _ whore _ . She’d stolen a prince’s favor under everyone’s nose, and now she would steal a kings? 

“And who are his advisors?” Tywin asks, his voice mild. Cersei sees the fury in him calming as hers rises. She wants to scream, wants to march straight to the Stark bitch and strangle her, but her father’s calm stills her.

“Jon Arryn. Grand Maester Pycell. Varys. His brother.”  _ And you _ , Cersei wants to say, but she knows Robert doesn’t trust her father--yet. 

“You forget one,” he says. “Lord Stark.”

Cersei scoffs. “Lord Stark and the King fought badly before he left to Dorne,” she reminds him. “Over the sack of King’s Landing, over the death of Elia’s children--”

“And yet the king is said to have embraced him like a brother last night, when he brought Lady Lyanna back to him.” Her father raises his brows at Cersei, his eyes calculating. 

“You’re saying he’ll marry Lyanna Stark because his principle advisor--Lord Arryn--has love for the Starks,” Cersei grinds out, after a moment. “And therefore will give bad counsel.” Cersei grips the armrests of her chair and leans forward. “You handed Robert King’s Landing on a  _ platter _ ,” she hisses. “Don’t tell me you cannot press the issue of him marrying me!” 

Her father presses his lips together and that’s all it takes before Cersei is leaning back in her chair and sulking silently. “Do not be a  _ child _ , Cersei,” he warns her. 

“Am I dismissed?” She asks, voice cold. Were she younger, her father might have slapped her for her impertinence. 

Instead, he regards her closely. “Yes,” he says, after a moment. “Take until noon. Then you will have luncheon with the new Lady Lysa Arryn. See what she knows of this. You must be composed.  _ Concerned _ with Lady Lyanna’s welfare. That simpering child will be glad for the company of someone other than her husband and might tell you something.”

“And you?” Cersei dares to ask, even though her father has already turned back to his meal and hardly ever shares his plans with her.

His green eyes find hers, and they study her. “All may not be lost,” he muses, spearing the ham with his knife. “We are still an ally that the king needs to please. We may get something from him yet.”

_ I don’t want  _ something _ ,  _ Cersei wants to tell him, and behind her eyes she can feel the prick of angry tears.  _ I want to be the Queen. _

  
  
  
  


“I don’t want to be the Queen,” Lyanna murmurs, eyes vacant. She’s sure only Ned can hear her, but regrets the words immediately when her brother’s shoulders tense. 

Beyond the door, she can hear Robert’s thundering voice. He’s as loud as always, but Lyanna has never flinched when she heard it before. It’s not even Robert that frightens her, she knows. She’d flinched away from Ser Arthur Dayne as well, and it took her nearly a fortnight before she trusted Howland Reed near her again. Men frightened her now, and she hates that she’s reduced to such a timid creature. It’s as though Lyanna Stark, the Lyanna she  _ used _ to be, is gone. She’s a shell, watching herself go through the motions of a life. 

_ No, _ she reminds herself fiercely.  _ I am a mother. I am real. I must play my part. _ Be the girl Robert remembers her to be, the one he thinks he’s so in love with. Wild, but not so wild as to truly challenge him. Engage him differently than all the other women he knows. Look the other way when he gropes the serving girls. Love is sweet, but it cannot change a man’s nature. Only the woman must change.

_ Jon _ , she thinks. She must do this for Jon.

Last night, Lyanna had been relieved when Robert’s eyes had softened to her. Despite Ned’s promises, Lyanna thought--well, that he might suspect that she ran away with Rhaegar. Not out of love, but to  _ escape _ ...a marriage, a father, a life she didn’t fit. Robert hadn’t shown any anger, though, he’d--he’d  _ cried _ when his eyes fell on hers, embraced her gently, as though she might break, kissed her cheeks through his tears. 

Perhaps she might get out of being queen. Lord Arryn had spoken to Ned about Cersei Lannister, how she’d been a viable candidate, a girl from a strong family on the winning side. But that look that Robert had given Lyanna last night, the pure relief and love on his face…

Lyanna doesn’t think he’ll want Cersei Lannister, or Catelyn Tully, or even Allyria Dayne, with her beautiful violet eyes. But she can try to show him that they’re no  _ good _ together.

The door opens, and the king is announced.

Robert has, impossibly, gotten bigger since Lyanna saw him over a year ago. He’d been a strong lad then, from swinging his warhammer about. She’d watched him, once, when he was preparing for the melee at Harrenhall. He’d been showing off, known that Lyanna and Benjen were watching. She could see all his muscles move under his tunic then, fluid and powerful when he brought the hammer down on his opponents shield. She’d been a giggly child then, a girl of four and ten who’d slipped away from her elder brother to watch the men fight. Robert had impressed her, even though she’d already known that she hadn’t wanted to marry him. She couldn’t deny that the man could fight.

He’s stronger now. She can see it, in the way he moves, the breadth of his shoulders. The care he’d taken with her last night, as though she were made of glass. That strength had killed Rhaegar at the Trident. That strength had made Robert a king. 

“Lya,” he says, and his voice is gentler than the boom it had been outside the room. “How do you feel?”

“Better today,” she says, though her voice is weak and her smile is weaker. 

He sits on her other side, so that Ned does not have to stand up, but her brother still squeezes Lyanna’s hand before rising. “I’ll be outside, let you two speak.”

And then it is just her, Robert, and the Kingsguard knight at the door.

Will this be her life, now? Surrounded by guards, by strength she cannot hope to match? She thought she’d had enough of that when Ned and Howland fought their way to her through the Tower of Joy. 

Robert seems almost subdued, when he takes her hand. Lyanna had been feverish and clammy this morning, and she’s thankful that Robert had come to her instead of calling her in front of court. 

“You need to get well,” Robert says, his voice a whisper. “Lya, I can only begin to imagine what was done to you, but you’re safe now. No one will hurt you here, especially not once we’re married. No one would dare hurt the queen.”

“Robert…” Lyanna begins. Of course they’d dare. Becoming queen will just put a larger target on her back. “I’m not a maid any longer. I cannot be the queen, the lords will never accept it.”

The protest is weak. Lyanna knows there will be no swaying Robert, not while he’s determined. And he is  _ determined _ to marry her, determined to  _ love _ her. 

Robert scowls deeply at the mention of dissent from the lords. “Sheep, all of them,” he tells her. “They’ll accept it if I tell them to.” He looks down at their entwined hands. He seems far away when he murmurs, “They’re all afraid of me.”

“Robert,” Lyanna says, and forces some steel into her voice. Be the girl, that wild girl that he wants. “What Rhaegar did to me--I need time. I cannot simply be your bride and jump into bed with you. He hurt me, badly.” In a smaller voice, “I’m not well.”

Robert nods eagerly. “Yes, of course. We’ll wait, Lyanna, I swear. We’ll have to wait two moons at least, after all.” At Lyanna’s confused expression, he explains. “You must be, beyond a doubt, not with child. Rhaegar went to war several moons ago, of course, and died far from you. If you were with child, we’d all see it. But the grand maester insisted we wait, just so no accusations will follow you once we begin to have children of our own.”

Children. Lyanna’s mind wanders to her own squalling babe, his Stark eyes just beginning to focus on hers when Howland took him, gently, from her. 

“Two moons?” She repeats, far away. That should be enough time for her to heal from the birth, she thinks...But how can she be sure? 

Robert looks almost scared himself when he looks up at her. “Will you, then?”

Lyanna frowns, “Will I what?” 

He swallows, and behind the black beard and the imposing muscle, Lyanna believes she can see hesitance in his eyes. “Will you marry me, then?” He asks, gruff.

She wasn’t aware that Robert was  _ asking _ . He’d seemed so sure of this all. They’d be married. They’d be in love. They’d have children. 

She’d be queen.

If she says no, Ned would have to let her come North...wouldn’t he? But Lyanna knows, already. It’s impossible. To think that Ned Stark had fathered a bastard on Ashara Dayne...there were serving wenches that would  _ swear _ to it. Ashara had, in her own hand, written a letter confirming that Jon was hers before they’d left Starfall and she’d killed herself. She had been pregnant, everyone knew that. It was a plausible story because the mother was out of the way. But if Lyanna went North, people would  _ wonder _ , wouldn’t they? Didn’t Ned warn her about the Lannisters, the Tyrells, Varys the spider, weaving his little web? Lyanna wants to go  _ home _ . But if she’s to keep her son safe, she can never go home.

“Yes, of course I’ll marry you, Robert,” Lyanna says, and if she begins to cry as she says it, Robert is too good to point it out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you guys enjoyed! If you did, please leave a comment below! They feed my drive to update ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Two VERY different sibling interactions in this chapter! 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed! <3


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